Rogue-ARC (19 page)

I did not feel well. Yet at the same time, it was familiar, and not uncomfortable. I knew how to move here, how to talk, what to expect. It had been formative for me.

Attaturk, the effective capital by being the largest and having the easiest star and sea ports, had changed in fifteen years, twenty-two Earth years. It was making an attempt at being modern, and regular infusions of capital and infrastructure made it a place that most of the factions regarded as off-limits. They all placed their HQs/embassies/OPs away from the cultural and commercial areas, so violence was minimized, apart from the occasional vehicle bomb or drive-by rocketing. Another couple of centuries and they might actually sort things out.

Once outside the city, the entire main continent was a hodgepodge of “zones” mapped by culture, religion and sometimes ethnicity. This is something the UN has tried successfully for centuries both here and on parts of Earth. That is, they’ve successfully drawn lines on a map. Getting the locals to both concur with the lines and abide by them is another issue.

Realistically, we could probably ignore ninety percent of the planet. In fact, so far we’d been lucky. Randall was sticking to surfaces and major centers. His rates must rule out the lesser options. Here, there was the one major city, and possibly two minor ones. It was also somewhere I had much more experience than he did.

Silver and I had multiple charts, graphs, plots at this point. The victims were broken down by every demographic possible. The locations and MOs were listed step by step and by relevant characteristics. We had some DNA on him. She’d set up a bias function to weigh potential targets against the existing data.

If we could get me close, I could take him out. He varied his methods a bit, but they all had a high tech feel to them.

When I’d done wet work, I’d gone for psychology. People died in their sleep and the person next to them woke up in the morning to find a corpse. Targets just disappeared. One got dismantled to the point where he still hadn’t recovered, as a warning to others. It’s very hard not to leave a signature of some kind. So far, the only commonality of Randall’s was the kills being exotic, but in lots of different ways. Predicting his next method was all but impossible.

But mine had been simple. Find the person, kill them silently or without witnesses, exfiltrate. We didn’t care if they knew who did it, as long as they couldn’t prove it.

He wanted people to know who did it, and required setup and equipment.

Had any of that stuff we’d arrived with been tagged for his use? Or was he plugged in and planning to steal it?

Or had he brought all he needed with him?

No way to know, so we went back to trying to anticipate target first.

CHAPTER 11

I decided to change our MO
a bit. Instead of a hotel, we got a cheap one-bedroom flat in a working neighborhood. Silver was dark enough to pass as 0ne of the typical racial types found locally, especially once in a nondescript robe that fit many of the sects. She carried hardware underneath. I donned a light silk coat over an ankle length shirt, and looked like a middle-class business rep trying to dress for upper class clients. We stocked up on food and were prepared for a wait. I bought a used but reliable basic van, and we disappeared into the local scenery rather than the offworld crowd. In less than a twenty-five hour local day, we looked like natives to any outsider. All the UN cared about was our return tickets and visa fees. If we were here over a month I’d pay that at the consular offices.

That made it easy to drive around, get images, draw maps and otherwise plug into things. I held off on weapons. The UN would seize anything they found, and I’d need something good if I planned a distance shot.

I found an obvious target in a short search, one of the top of my prearrival list. The UN was holding one of its endless discussions to resolve the problems on Mtali, which had been going on for at least two Earth centuries—the problems and the discussions.

One Rajini al Alrab was a minor sheik and major financier for the Shia Nation Movement. Their agenda was a distinct nation for specifically Shia followers, with others “tolerated” as long as they followed the official Shia law in public. Unsaid was that they wanted the choicest land and the capital, and to drive everyone else out or kill them to get it. For some reason, the other factions didn’t agree to this.

Alrab was an agent who transshipped stuff through Mtali space to other systems. He personally owned an almost-completed grav-sling setup to make this more efficient, at the trailing Trojan and at two jump points, one from Earth and one from Novaja Rossia. In exchange, he did provide lots of money for development and charity, though with the environment, breeding rate and sheer numbers, it didn’t go far. Still, he was no worse a bastard than anyone else. He arranged investors, he took a percentage, and everyone did gain some benefit in the deal.

He was wealthy and visible, though, and the key speaker at this thing, which was in seventeen days.

We sat at the cheap extruded dining table next to the bed in our tiny apartment, with a large fan acting as background noise and hindering any scans from the window, but we had to have some cooling. It was dry, but still stifling.

Silver concurred. “He does seem to be the only one who makes sense. Easy to find, contentious, has previous attempts.”

“Pretty much the biggest fish around these parts. Lots of unhappiness all around about him, versus all the money he doles out and the hatred the other groups have for him.”

“Would they jointly finance a hit?”

“It seems most unlikely, but it’s possible. Do you suspect something?”

“No, just wondering for now.”

“Well, the forum isn’t the only place to tag him. I’d go for his residence, and just hang out and wait for a quiet moment. Either shoot from a distance, or slide in and look like a guest on a junket or some minor staff. However, I’m guessing Randall wants another scene. These seem to be largely message as much as kill.”

“Complicated, but there is an MO there, and he’s shown the skills so far.”

I said, “However, this is a major event. Security will be much tighter than military, because they’re expecting hundreds of people with limited access each, and their badges will be coded accordingly. Checks will be ongoing. Biometrics. We could crack it, but it would take a lot of work, and then we’re caught inside if something goes on outside. I hate to abandon someone to the wolves, but as tricky as Randall is, I want to run recon and wait for him to show. Before, after, doesn’t matter, though it’s hard on the potential victim.”

“I agree,” she said. “There’ll be all kinds of overlapping security. What about a distraction outside?”

“What kind?”

“Something to heighten security all over, to improve Alrab’s odds.”

I thought about that.

“Anything unusual outside will cause them to tighten up inside. That’s a given. So we need something outside to reduce hit probability.”

I thought aloud as I worked it out. “So, we can’t do anything in the entry phase, or in his limo. Inside the arena is unlikely. I made sure word leaked out on the chameleon; Royal intel forwarded info to several agencies here, and there’s little clear space the way the meeting is set up. So if anything is going to happen, it’ll be when he crosses the plaza.”

“Will he cross it?”

“It’s traditional. The grand entrance. Not doing so would indicate a problem to everyone. It’s also a chance for people to gawk at one of their betters and vice versa. He’ll do it.”

“What do you think then?” she asked. “Trap of some kind, rocket, bullet, or something more exotic?”

“I don’t really care,” I said.

“Oh?” She gave me a quizzical look.

“I don’t care what targets Mr. Alrab. It won’t be able to confirm Mr. Alrab.”

“Tell me more,” she said.

“Misdirection. We’re going to hire some actors.”

She smiled with a quirky twist of her mouth.

“Elegant and brilliant. It doesn’t sound simple, though.”

“I take it you haven’t met many actors?”

“Only some of your instructors I met in passing. We get a very brief lecture on making the role and the documentation match.”

“Yeah, I got actual acting classes. I’ve met real local actors. They’re underpaid, love a challenge, and will do ridiculous things for a few creds.”

“Even here?”

“It’s universal.”

The next day I called a local agency. I sought one run by an offworlder.

Acting is simultaneously a pure art and pure greed. Given a role, actors will compete mightily for it, and take little money. This is why their agencies exist; to demand outrageous amounts of money. I planned to exploit the latter.

Silver set me up with an Earth suit and business flashes. They were piezo, digital and expensive. As I only needed a few, and had money to burn relative to the project, I looked like a big shot. I called ahead for an appointment, and insisted on discretion.

“I’m with Taylor and Ozuka,” I said, “but this must be kept quiet. Most of our own people don’t know we’re doing this.”

The receptionist I spoke to was a young woman, probably a Sufi of Turk ancestry, who said, “I understand, sir. Will three o’clock high work for you?”

“I really need something earlier if possible.”

“There may be some time right after lunch at one high.”

“I’ll make sure I’m there. I can wait if I need to.”

Meanwhile, Silver went about recruiting an established retired theater actress turned teacher. There were three in the area. She found one I’d heard of, with good credibility. Sayina (Ms) Aysa Meluki.

I arrived at my meeting promptly at ten minutes to one. The receptionist took my card and I made it a point to stand. The office was small, clean, but a few years out of date. The walls held shots of various projects and some local business markers.

Eight minutes later, the head of the agency, John Schinck, came out to greet me.

“Mister Blenton? John Schinck.” His accent was pure New York, and I surmised he’d moved here to run his own agency, cheaper and with less hassle than on Earth. He looked Earth, not local, probably for the aura of respectability. He was taller than me, smooth-headed and his acquiescence to local culture was a button-necked shirt instead of a pullover.

I said, “Pleased to meet you. It looks like you’re keeping busy.”

“I am, and that’s good. It’s a backwater, but there are some talented people here. Won’t you come into my office?”

“Thanks,” I said and followed him. “So I’m told. I work from L.A. myself, though it’s not home. This is remote, though.”

“Yeah, I was through on a documentary some years ago. It’s a rough planet some places, but very pretty, and you can make your own future.”

We took seats. These were comfortable, and he didn’t put a desk between us. He understood the locals that much.

The feel-out talk was good. I said, “I’ve thought about that myself. I got a good offer in LA, but I want to move back out when I can.”

“So what can I help you with?” he asked, as he reached behind him to a fridge and offered me a real glass bottle of ice cold spring water, and got one for himself.

“A guerilla ad campaign.” I took the bottle and we twisted together.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Mr. Alrab, who is a very complicated man, needs some media buzz.”

Schinck chuckled. “‘Complicated’ is certainly the word for him.”

“I thought you’d catch that,” I said, establishing that we were both in this for the money, not out of any sense of clannish duty. “I need up to ten actors who can pass as him once made up, with minimum enhancement. We’ll pay for training. Discretion is important. They just need to appear, wave, and disappear again. Easy work, but we want it quiet and we want skill.”

“Eminently doable. What’s your time frame?”

“A week from now latest to start training.”

“Tight, but I think I can find them. How much?”

“I’m agreeable to two hundred a day, local lodging or mileage, and meals. We’ll need them about ten days and if it’s less I can pay up to that.”

“Two fifty,” he countered.

It was fair. He’d get the fifty.

“I can agree to that. Please let me know soonest,” I said. “More rehearsal time is better, and means more money for them.”

“A pleasure working with you, Mr. Blenton. I’ll have my assistant bring in a standard boilerplate.”

We swapped a few more pleasantries about being away from Earth. The spring water was actually that. UVed to sterilize it, but actual spring water with natural minerals. Very tasty.

The assistant brought in the contract on a tablet. No effort at all, but Schinck didn’t do his own documents. I understood that. It was a standard contract demanding insurance, compliance, default, payment, performance from all parties. I scrawled, and said, “Because we don’t want any leakage on the nodes, payment will be in cash.”

“Almost shady, if we weren’t on a planet where most things are cash,” he said with a laugh.

I chuckled back. “Yet another advantage,” I said. “In L.A., Variety and half the competition knows you’ve signed a contract before you’re out of the office. Damned spies. It’s like being in a second rate vid in real life.”

“I remember,” he said.

If he only knew how accurate it was this time.

Three days later, I had my actors. Some had been without work and were eager. Others took vacation time. A couple were established locals. All had some experience at least, and I trusted Schinck, as I didn’t know enough to make a call. I did, however, assume that at least one was a plant. It couldn’t be helped.

We met first at Schinck’s office. I took him at his word, because none of them jumped out as problematic.

He introduced me, I stepped up and gave just enough condescension to look like an offworlder struggling with the culture. They grinned rather than frowned, so I’d gauged it correctly.

“This is a marketing stunt for our new video system,” I said. “You all look quite close, and after the compositing is done, there will be even more of you, and no one will be able to tell you’re not one person. The portable holo units should even fool a lot of bystanders.”